


Ariston

by elaine



Series: Five Ways Jim and Blair Never Met in Past Lives [5]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universes, Drama, First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-21
Updated: 2006-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:14:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elaine/pseuds/elaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A New York cop is working undercover in a notorious gay bath house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ariston

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a true event.

  
"Ellison, are you still here?"

McGinty's voice dragged Det Jim Ellison out of a dazed trance and back to the awareness of a dull ache behind his eyes and a roiling stomach. He pushed his notepad away for a moment and looked up at his captain. "Yes, Sir. I'm just finishing off my report."

"Well, shake a leg, laddie. You'll need some sleep before you go back on duty this evening."

The thought of another night spent undercover in that damn bathhouse was enough to make his insides rebel, and Jim swallowed hastily before dragging himself reluctantly to his feet. "Sir, may I talk to you about that?"

McGinty's broad, flushed face turned wary. "You're not going to ask to be taken off this assignment, Jimmy. You're the best man we've got."

"But, Sir..."

"No. You have the eyes of a hawk, m'boy." A large beefy hand clapped him on the shoulder in McGinty's favourite gesture of approval. "Your reports are far more detailed than any of the other men's." McGinty's eyes scanned his face, and seeing his reluctant acceptance, smiled encouragingly. "It won't be for much longer. The Good Lord knows, I hate to put any of my boys into that... that den of iniquity, but you're doing good work, Jimmy."

Jim sighed. "Thank you, Sir."

"Fine." McGinty smiled broadly. "Now get that report done and be off with you. It's almost seven o'clock."

He dropped down into his seat as the captain marched into his office and began reading his report again. It was almost complete, but just seeing the words on the paper was enough to bring back the reek of sex and unwashed male bodies. "He rubbed his forehead distractedly and then took up his pen.  
 _I then proceeded to the cooling room, where numerous men were engaged in overt homosexual activities. In particular, I witnessed one man, of about 55 years, who had sexual relations with at least nine men, most of whom indicated their sexual interest with lewd gestures. This person I later ascertained to be one Thomas O'Grady, a pantryman. During the period of my observation, there were also several encounters between groups of three or more men. I took my leave of the premises at five minutes after three o'clock in the morning._  
That ought to be sufficient. He signed the report and dated it: February 13th 1903.

* * *

Outside the station it was still dark but the city was starting to rouse. Soon, the streets would be congested with men and women making their way to work. Jim debated walking to the 9th Ave El train, but he was tired and sick to his stomach, and he could hear a horse drawn streetcar only a block away and coming in this direction. It would take a little longer, but at least he could sit the entire way.

By the time he'd reached Orchard St the traffic was noticeably heavier. He left the streetcar at the corner and walked slowly towards the apartment building where he rented two small rooms. It was one of the better on the block, with flushing toilets, electric lighting in the hallways and both rooms had outside windows. Though superior to the tenements a few blocks further south, it was still smelly and noisy, with the thin walls providing little barrier to either. At least during the day the building was largely empty as even most of the women and children were forced to work just to make ends meet.

He made a visit to the privy he shared with the other tenants on his floor, then washed himself quickly to rid himself of the stink from the bathhouse before falling onto his narrow cot still clad in his undershirt and drawers. After a moment, the cold became too great to ignore and he pulled the blankets over himself and prayed for sleep.

It came, fitfully, as all too often lately. He drifted in and out, moving restlessly until eventually falling into deeper slumber. In his dreams he saw a face - a vivid, beautiful face, surrounded by tumbled dark curls. Wide, curious blue eyes smiled mischievously at him and Jim felt himself respond in kind. Something drew him to this young man, and he tried to move closer, but others stood in his way. With the suddenness that only occurs in dreams, Jim became aware of the dim light and the sounds of animal lust coming from the men who separated him from the young man. He pushed through them, all of them naked, though he was not, and found himself in front of his quarry. The young man was naked too; his pale skin liberally sprinkled with dark hair, his cock dusky and half hard. He smiled invitingly

and Jim woke, his cock aching and heavy inside his drawers, his hand already seeking the heat of his flesh. He groaned softly and, casting aside all shame, pressed his hand down over his cock while his hips rose against the firm pressure. Even that was not sufficient, and he turned onto his side and quickly unbuttoned the waistband of his drawers. Oh, how good it felt to stroke his own flesh, no matter that the sensations roused shameful visions of the young man and the perverted couplings he'd witnessed night after night. He tightened his grip and sped the strokes until his release could no longer be denied him, then lay panting and more exhausted than he had been before taking his bed.

Not for the first time, Jim regretted that he hadn't had the backbone to demand that McGinty take him off the case. How much longer could he be expected to suffer in this assignment?

* * *

At six o'clock in the evening, Jim abandoned his bed, having given up any hope of further sleep as the building's tenants returned  _en masse_. He washed again, properly this time, with hot water purchased from his neighbour who had a stove, and using more soap than was strictly necessary, even though it felt greasy and harsh on his skin. He wondered whether he would ever really feel clean again.

Two blocks north from his building, and three blocks west was Jim's favourite diner. He forced himself to stop there, even though he'd had no appetite for weeks. It was busy, as always, and he tried to relax in spite of the noise and the smells of cooking and the other diners. To pass the time, he ordered a coffee and sipped it slowly, thinking that perhaps once the Williamsburg Bridge was finally completed he should consider moving across the river to Brooklyn. It would be further from the station, but maybe the housing would be better. He could afford to pay a little more, but not enough for the better class of houses further north.

By the time his meal arrived - roast beef, potatoes and buttered beets, his appetite had fled entirely. Nevertheless, he forced himself to choke down the almost tasteless food. He would need it to see him through the night, for there would be no chance to eat once he had entered the bathhouse. He ordered another coffee, ignoring the waiter's disapproving face as he removed the half eaten meal. This proved to be bitter and stale tasting on his tongue, though he knew better to complain, since none of the other patrons could ever find any fault with the brew. He drank it as quickly as he could, paid his thirty-five cents and left.

Since he still had ample time Jim caught the streetcar back to the station house. It would take longer than the El, but wouldn't irritate his ears, or his nose quite so much. He wondered idly if the underground line, when it opened, would be better or worse. Probably worse, he concluded - unless the engineers could get the smoke out of the tunnels somehow.

The bullpen was busy, even for a Friday night, and Jim slipped unobtrusively through the knots of people to his desk. He had to sign in before heading out to the Ariston Baths, five blocks north of the station house, and would prefer to avoid the joking references to his undercover assignment. Even knowing what his purpose was, there were some who viewed with hostility anyone capable of "passing" among the queers who haunted the bathhouse. Jim signed the register, checked his tray for any messages and left.

He decided to walk to the baths, although it was a chill night, and the wind was rising. It would clear his head, Jim thought, as he clapped his derby more firmly to his head and hunched his shoulders under his coat. Once he entered the bathhouse there would be no escaping the weight of the atmosphere inside and he walked, not slowly, but with measured, reluctant step.

When he reached the corner of Broadway and 55th, Jim paused for a moment longer than was necessary to allow the traffic to pass. Then, taking a deep breath, he crossed the road, entered the Ariston Hotel, and made his way to the basement, where the bathhouse was situated. Even standing in the entrance, waiting to pay his dollar to the clerk, he could smell the musky odour of sex and his cock twitched sluggishly. Jim gritted his teeth, knowing that there were hours of this awaiting him on the other side of the double glass doors. The clerk gazed at him incuriously as he paid the entry fee and accepted in return the locker key and white sheet that was the bathhouse's nod to propriety. He steeled himself and stepped through the doorway.

Each time, it seemed worse, whether it was because of his nervous anticipation, or perhaps he really was losing the ability to resist the palpable aura of sexual depravity. It would do him no good to start thinking about that now, so Jim made his way as quickly as possible to his dressing room. It was tiny, containing only a locker and a narrow cot even smaller than his bed at home. He undressed methodically, not allowing himself to think about the next few hours, and wrapped the thin sheet around his waist. It was scarcely larger than a towel.

If it had been a normal bathhouse, Jim would have considered relaxing for a time in the hot pool, or even enjoying a massage. But even though it was early and the real action would not be happening for at least a couple of hours, he rejected that idea out of hand. There were other police officers here, some of whom he did not know, and he had no intention of taking the risk of being observed in any activity that was less than professional. Instead, he wandered through the various rooms, watching as the men, most of whom had their sheets draped casually around their shoulders, hiding nothing, flirted and teased in a desultory manner. They, too, were biding their time.

Slowly the bathhouse began to fill up. He saw Brooks from the 14th Precinct and they exchanged wary glances, each heading to another room. The atmosphere grew tense, but in an expectant rather than a hostile manner. It was time, and Jim strolled casually in the direction of the cooling room.

This was one of the most popular places for homosexual encounters, as such light that penetrated the room came from the gas lighting in the parlour next door. Most of the other officers avoided it, claiming it was too dark for them to make useful observations, however Jim had not experienced any such problem. He eased into one of the darker corners and prepared to watch unobtrusively.

It was some considerable time before Jim recognised any of the participants. That was not unusual, as most of the clientele came to the bathhouse only occasionally and the  _habitues_  tended to arrive later in the evening. However, he was stunned to realise that the young man of his dream was actually present in this shameful place, and completely naked too. He hadn't even bothered to bring his sheet.

Jim watched as the young man circulated through the room, smiling greetings from time to time, but not staying with anyone for very long. He cut an unusual figure, with his shoulder length curls - some kind of Bohemian, an artist perhaps - with all the decadence of his kind, no doubt. And now that his memory had been jogged, Jim remembered having seen the fellow before. He'd paired off only with the most perfectly developed and handsome of men, ignoring any lesser mortals. Jim curled his lip slightly and ignored both the heaviness of his heart and the stirring at his groin.

Tonight it seemed that the young man was particularly fastidious. He passed by several men who Jim would have considered eligible partners for him, smiling regretfully, but immediately moving on, his eyes searching the dim room. He came quite close to Jim before a spark of recognition lit his eyes and he smiled brilliantly. Another two steps and they were almost touching. Jim straightened from his casual lean against the wall, his heart hammering against his ribs. In all the time he'd been coming here, nobody had approached him and he was completely unprepared for such an eventuality.

The young man lifted a hand and laid it on Jim's chest, right over his pounding heart. The shock of that touch was almost more than he could bear. He caught the young man's wrist and whispered a harsh "No!"

Puzzlement showed on the beautiful face, but he made no attempt to free himself, or to speak. Jim swallowed, though his throat was painfully tight, and attempted to retrieve the situation. "Not here."

"Shy?" The young man smiled. "My name's Blair."

With that, he turned and with Jim still clasping his wrist, led the way through the room to the parlour. They were greeted with ironic cheers by some of the men lounging there, which Blair acknowledged with good humour. None of the men Jim could see were police officers - that he knew of - and he prayed briefly that it might remain so. He could not publicly repudiate Blair for fear of exposing himself, but he would have to find some way to end this once they were private.

Blair's destination was one of the cramped dressing rooms. He used the key tied to his wrist to open the door and stepped aside for Jim to enter first. When the door closed behind him, there was even less light than in the cooling room, only a faint glow from the tiny grille at the top of the door. Blair wasted no time in stepping up to Jim and leaning against his body, delicately nuzzling his throat.

"What's your name?" The soft voice caught Jim unawares and he shivered. A chuckle ghosted warm air across his throat. "Tell me anything. It doesn't matter."

"Jim. My name is Jim." He could hardly speak, couldn't think at all. Fingers brushed against his belly, fumbling with the sheet wrapped around his waist and he groaned helplessly.

"What do you like, Jim?" A nip on his earlobe distracted his attention away from the tugging at his waist. "What do you want?"

"Anything." He shuddered as the cloth suddenly came free and dropped to his feet. Blair leaned even closer, rubbing against him, and Blair's hand slid down over his belly. "Oh, God! Anything."

"Mm. You feel wonderful, Jim." Finally, Blair took hold of his cock. "Oh yeah... I knew it. I knew you'd be like this." His fingers stroked restlessly down the heavy shaft to linger at the tip, teasing the foreskin back and forth.

The sensations were almost unbearably intense, leaving no room for thoughts of escape, or shame. Nothing except desire and need. Jim shuddered again and swayed, throwing out his arms to steady himself against the walls, and so narrow was the cubicle he could easily touch both. Blair smiled up at him, then slid down his body to crouch at his feet.

"Do you want me to suck you?" His voice, honey warm and just a little rough took Jim's breath away. Jim looked down at the young man before him, looking up at him like a debauched angel, lips parted in anticipation, and could not speak. He nodded abruptly and Blair smiled with slow sensuality, then leaned forward and sucked gently on the tip of Jim's cock, never taking his eyes off Jim's for a moment.

A long drawn out moan escaped him, but he held still, that much control was left to him and no more. Nobody had ever done this for him. No decent man would ask it of a woman, except for the bawdiest of streetwalkers who he would not deign to patronise. But Blair seemed to be positively enjoying servicing him in this way, taking his cock deeper and sucking more firmly before lifting one hand to fondle Jim's balls.

He could not look any longer, or he would certainly lose all control. Jim allowed his head to fall back and his shoulders tensed as his hands pressed desperately against the walls. He could not have stood without their support now, for his legs were shaking uncontrollably.

At last, Blair had taken him so deep that Jim would never had believed it possible, had he not experienced it himself. His cock was almost fully sheathed within Blair's mouth, and when Blair hummed softly, he felt the vibration rising to his belly. Blair glanced up at him and drew back, then took him deeper still, starting a smooth rhythm that infected Jim with the need to thrust - slowly, cautiously - in counterpoint to Blair's movements. Unimaginable pleasure soared through him, making him light-headed and building an ache in his groin that would not be denied. He shuddered and twisted, trying to break free, but Blair would have none of it. Indeed, he stroked firmly behind Jim's balls, then pressed hard on the sensitive spot. Jim choked back a cry - to let it out would have been unimaginably indiscreet - and felt his seed spill into Blair's mouth.

When he became aware again, Jim was sitting on the edge of the cot, leaning heavily against Blair's shoulder. Blair smiled at him, relief evident in his face. "You had me worried, Jim. Feeling better now?"

Jim nodded, too full of confusion to speak. He'd realised some time ago that there were empty spaces in his awareness, moments, even minutes, which had passed without him knowing it. He'd always managed to cover these lapses, afraid to delve too deeply for fear of what he might find. Now Blair knew about them, and he felt unbearably exposed.

"It's all right." Blair rubbed his arm reassuringly. "You're all right now?"

"Yes, I'm fine." Jim rubbed his hand over his face and realised that the headache he'd had on and off for the last few weeks had left him again. He smiled weakly. "Sorry."

"Think nothing of it." Blair smiled with unfettered sweetness and kissed him gently on the lips.

As a distraction, it was remarkably effective. It took a considerable effort for Jim not to grab Blair's face between his hands and devour those mobile lips. He did cup the whisker-rough cheeks gently as his lips and tongue explored Blair's mouth, tasting his seed and the beer that Blair had drunk before coming to the bathhouse. A strange combination, to be sure, but not unpleasant when mingled with Blair's own taste. He slid his fingers into the soft, springy curls and clutched them tightly as they kissed, and kissed, and kissed.

Eventually, they parted, breathing deeply and Blair touched his fingertips to his swollen mouth. "You sure are a good kisser. What else can you do?"

Reminded of his obligations, Jim realised that Blair was still hard and showing more patience than Jim had any right to expect. He almost panicked at the thought that he would have to reciprocate. It was certain that he could not in any way emulate the skill that Blair had shown.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry..."

Blair kissed him firmly but briefly. "No matter." He hesitated, and then said in a kindly tone "this is new to you, isn't it? I can find someone else if you're not ready."

"No." For some reason, that didn't seem like an acceptable solution. Jim sighed. "I don't... don't have much experience. But I'd like to touch you."

Blair seemed to find his response acceptable. He rose, standing at Jim's side, the tip of his cock gleaming with moisture. He was circumcised, which for a younger man might mean anything now that the practice had become so fashionable. Jim was not about, at this point, to ask if he was Jewish. Greatly daring, Jim lowered his head and licked the swollen slit before turning his head and pressing his face against Blair's stomach. Surrounded by Blair's scent, it was easier, somehow, to touch his fingertips to the other man's cock and explore the soft, heated skin and feel the throb and rush of blood through the raised veins on its surface.

He closed his fingers around the shaft, stroking firmly. This, at least, he knew how to do. He heard Blair breathing in little, sobbing gasps and realised that he'd felt greater guilt this morning, for touching himself in this fashion, than he now had in touching Blair. He didn't question it. Some things were too precious a gift to be questioned.

Still, it surprised him how much pleasure he took, not only from giving Blair pleasure, but simply from touching the young man so intimately. By tilting his head a little, Jim was able to brush his lips across Blair's nipple, delighting in the shudder that ran through the sturdy body and the way the nipple hardened so readily. He closed his lips around the hard peak and sucked firmly, strengthening his grip on Blair's cock as he did so.

Blair's hand closed around Jim's suddenly, and his cock pulsed sharply. The warm, sticky seed spilled over both their hands, slipping down between their fingers while Jim continued to coax just a little more pleasure from Blair's shaking body.

"Enough." Blair sounded breathless but contented. He bent and kissed the top of Jim's head. "Thank you."

It occurred to Jim that, judging by all the encounters he'd witnessed in the past, it was now time for him to graciously exit the dressing room. He cleared his throat awkwardly, having no idea how he was to do any such thing. Blair patted his shoulder gently and he moved aside so Blair could sit also. They looked at each other in silence.

Blair's "would you like to..." tangled with Jim's "I think I should..."

"...stay?" Blair smiled faintly.

God above, how he'd love to do just that. Instead, he shook his head slightly and bent over to retrieve his sheet. "I think I should go."

* * *

Jim stopped at the station house long enough to file a brief and highly edited report before going home and collapsing into bed. For the first time in weeks, he slept deeply, waking refreshed, but with his headache returned and his stomach once again queasy. He lay in his bed, one arm over his eyes, trying not to think too much about the young man he'd met last night. He couldn't even be sure that Blair was his true name, and yet he'd allowed himself to put his entire future into the hands of this stranger. It was madness, pure and simple, but a madness he could not bring himself to regret.

The station house was bristling with its usual energy when Jim arrived shortly after noon. He went straight to McGinty's office and rapped his knuckles on the doorframe.

"Who is it?" McGinty's scowl gave way to concern as he looked up. "Jimmy, my boy. I read your report."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Sir." Jim closed the door behind him and waited for permission to sit. "I thought it best to leave the premises immediately."

"Aye, no doubt about it." McGinty studied him intently, and Jim struggled not to squirm under the kindly gaze. "It's an unpleasant business all round, being approached in that manner. I suppose you'll not be wanting to go back."

Since that was exactly what Jim wanted, he was startled to hear himself say, "I don't think there'll be a problem. I hadn't seen him before, so he probably only visits occasionally."

"And you're sure he wasn't suspicious?"

Jim shook his head. "I simply told him he wasn't my 'type'. He didn't suspect anything."

McGinty's smiled approvingly. "Well, there's no doubt that's a relief - we could ill afford to lose you now. I don't suppose you could identify him?"

The implied threat to Blair made the breath catch in Jim's throat for a moment, but an excuse readily came to his lips. "No, Sir. It was very dark in there and to be honest, I was too taken aback to look closely."

"A pity. We'd have a fine case against that one, otherwise."

"Yes, Sir." Jim half rose from his chair, then hesitated. "There's nothing else, Sir?"

McGinty waved him away. "No, no. Take the afternoon off and be ready again this evening."

* * *

Ready. Jim wondered how he could ever be that. He told himself that Blair was only an occasional visitor. They were unlikely to cross paths again, at least so soon. Still, his footsteps were lighter and swifter as he walked towards the Ariston that evening. His hand trembled a little as he took the key from the clerk, and he warned himself to be sensible. Even if Blair was present, what happened last night could not be repeated.

Of course, Blair was nowhere in sight. Jim concentrated on the tiny voice of reason, which told him that he should be glad to be spared temptation, and ignored the voice of hope, which obligingly informed him that Blair hadn't arrived until nearly midnight last night. Whether the young man came or not, it would make no difference.

The lies Jim told himself lasted just up till the moment he saw Blair walk into the cooling room. He was aware of the other man's presence immediately, and saw Blair slowly scanning the room - looking for him? He dared not think so, but within the space of a few heartbeats, Blair had found him. With every ounce of control he possessed, Jim kept his face from showing any emotion, but it mattered not at all. Blair smiled at him, slowly, provocatively, and turned away, walking unhurriedly from the room.

Helpless to resist, Jim followed.

He stayed several paces behind Blair and took the opportunity to survey the wide shoulders and sturdy body with approval. There was nothing effeminate about this man, notwithstanding the long hair and the short stature, and he moved with an energetic grace that was oddly appealing. His gaze dropped to the smoothly rounded buttocks, mesmerised by the flex of muscle beneath the skin, and felt as though he might drift into one of his fugue states just from watching Blair walk.

Fortunately for Jim's composure, it was not far to Blair's cubicle. He closed the distance between them and by the time Blair had wrestled the door open, Jim was pressed so close against him that a sheet of paper could not have been inserted between their bodies. They stumbled into the cubicle and Blair turned in his arms, his face lifting to Jim's.

They kissed as though possessed - hungrily, though not without tenderness. He had never kissed a woman with such passion, but Jim had neither the desire nor the capacity to ponder this notion. His hand slid down over Blair's back, soaking in sensation as though it were a drug. Blair was no less urgent, pushing him back against the door, which they had not even remembered to close. It clicked sharply, Jim realised that it should be locked, but the thought fled before he could act on it. Far more important, at that moment, was to strip off the sheet that separated him from Blair's naked flesh.

The feel of Blair's cock pressing insistently against his thigh drew Jim back from that first headlong rush. His own cock was equally demanding against Blair's belly, but, far from disgusting him, the knowledge that his desire was entirely reciprocated only strengthened his resolve. He began moving Blair towards the bed, unsure of what would happen to him once they reached it, but knowing there was no longer any chance of turning back from this precipice.

Together, they tumbled to the bed, and here the difference in their heights was alleviated. With a quick wiggle, Blair aligned his cock with Jim's and began to thrust against him with lusty abandon, groaning into his mouth as he did so. The first frenzy of their coupling was enough to completely unravel Jim's tiny reservoir of constraint. He gave no thought at all to the unnaturalness of another man's cock pressing so fervently against his own, nor to the tickle of chest hair against his much smoother body.

It was Blair who called a halt, dragging his mouth away from Jim's long enough to gasp "Wait." and then to push impatiently at Jim's chest when he was slow to respond.

With great reluctance, Jim rolled slightly to one side to allow the other man's escape, unutterably relieved when Blair merely stepped over to the small locker that held his clothes and drew out several small objects. Blair placed them on top of the locker and Jim heard the rasp of a safety match and blinked against the glare of its flame. When his sight recovered, he saw that Blair had lit the stub of a candle.

"I want to see you this time." Blair's smile was that of a lover, and against that, Jim had no defence. It had never occurred to him than any of these men felt a more tender passion than animal lust. "And... I brought this."

'This' proved to be a tiny jar, filled with some sweet smelling ointment, and for a moment Jim was at a loss to discern its purpose. Then the import of Blair's shy expression became clear and heat flooded through his body. He sat up, alarmed by the thought of taking what was offered, in the face of his almost complete ignorance of how this act might be accomplished between two men.

He caught Blair's hand between both of his. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I have some experience with this." Blair glanced at his face and then uncertainly away. "I won't easily be hurt, and I can tell you how to proceed."

He took the jar from Blair's hand and moved aside. "Then tell me."

Relief and pleasure showed clearly on Blair's face. "It will be easier if I lie face down." He suited his actions to his words and lay beside Jim, supporting his upper body on his elbows and parting his legs slightly. In the soft light of the flickering candle his body appeared to glow like molten gold. He glanced over his shoulder at Jim. "Give me some of the ointment."

Wordlessly, Jim held out the jar and Blair scooped out some of the contents with his middle finger. He shifted slightly on the bed and as Jim watched, slid the finger down between his buttocks. He could not see more, and did not think he wanted to at this point, but the long sigh that Blair released sent a tingling sensation to the very root of his cock. After a few strokes, Blair began to move his hips, rocking onto his finger before adding a second finger. Unlikely as he would have thought it only moments ago, the action was deeply arousing to Jim, and he could not bear to look away, though he was still wary of making a closer inspection.

Long shivering tremors passed through Blair's body as he watched Jim from under heavy eyelids. He was rubbing his body against the bed, quite brazen in his enjoyment of this act. Suddenly, Jim wanted nothing more than to sheathe his aching cock inside the channel that Blair was preparing so thoroughly. It was as if madness had taken hold of him, removing all proper shame or modesty. Hands shaking, he scooped up some of the ointment and began to apply it to his cock, forcing himself to be methodical in his preparations for fear that he might hurt Blair.

At last, and as if by mutual consent, both he and Blair were ready. In the confines of their tiny cot, they awkwardly rearranged themselves so that Jim knelt between Blair's parted legs and Blair obligingly lifted himself slightly on his knees to allow Jim greater access. He groaned softly as Jim pressed his cock against the swollen opening, but remained quite relaxed.

Jim hesitated all the same. "You must promise to tell me if I hurt you."

"You won't." Blair spoke impatiently. "It's your delaying that's killing me."

He bit back a laugh and pressed further, past the tight ring of muscle and into the smooth heat of Blair's body. This time it was he who groaned. Since Blair still showed no sign of discomfort, Jim's hesitation melted away and, with only a couple of gentle thrusts, he was almost fully inside. He reached around Blair's hip to take his cock in hand, finding it only slightly deflated.

"Now fuck me." It was more a command than a request, and Jim smiled, unaccountably delighted with this bossiness. He began to thrust much more forcefully, gasping as the sensation in his cock mounted to heights he could never have imagined possible.

The tight clutch on his cock loosened a little as Blair's body accustomed itself and to compensate Jim sped up his movements until the cot was creaking and shuddering beneath them. Anyone passing might hear it, or the groans they were making in the heat of their passion. Blair swore softly, halting his movements and Jim stilled likewise.

"I'm going to lie flat. Just move with me, Jim."

Suiting his actions to his words Blair eased forward until he was completely prone, and Jim had perforce to follow or lose all contact. In this position, with both he and Blair supporting themselves only on their forearms, it was impossible to be so vigorous, but the tightening of Blair's buttocks around his cock was ample compensation. Jim nuzzled the sweaty nape of Blair's neck and nibbled his earlobe as he slipped his hand beneath Blair's body and once again took hold of his cock. Blair muffled a groan in his hands and trembled violently.

That last little movement proved Jim's undoing. He clenched his teeth to keep from crying out as his cock pulsed violently, and buried his face in Blair's tangled curls. When the brief spasm ended, it seemed like all the strength had fled from his body along with his seed. He was lying heavily atop Blair, and made haste to move aside.

Blair twisted onto his back and Jim saw that his cock was still full and hard. He smiled at Jim, but there was no disguising the naked need in his face. Jim touched the swollen flesh, thinking that it must by now be close to the point of pain. He bent his head and kissed the shaft just below the tip, then cautiously licked down its length. The taste was not unpleasant, and heartened by this, he set to with a will, refraining only from taking the crown into his mouth. Blair sighed and shuddered under his ministrations and petted his hair with one hand. The other crept down to assist Jim's ministrations by rubbing tiny circles across the head of his cock. He caught his breath on another long sigh and his hand stilled as the long denied release claimed him.

* * *

This time, neither Jim nor Blair made any move to exit the cubicle. Although the cot was narrow and decidedly uncomfortable, they remained entwined upon it in whatever comfort they could manage. At first Jim was drowsy, and content only to feel Blair's skin against his own and to bask in the aftermath of their pleasure, but it appeared that Blair was not so inclined to somnolence. He turned to lie against Jim's chest, hands exploring in a slow and easy way, seemingly driven more by curiosity than any carnal instinct. When Jim sighed, surrendering any hope of sleep, and opened his eyes, he was greeted with a tender smile and a slow, sensual kiss.

It would be some time before Jim was ready to continue their more energetic activities, but even in recognising that fact, he was forced to admit to himself that he was not yet willing to abandon his unnatural urges. That it was impossible to conceive of them as unnatural while in the heat of passion was something he would have to consider later. Instead he allowed himself to enjoy the soft kisses and fond touches, basking in them as a cat in the sun.

They talked too, exchanging stories and snippets of information that were not overly personal. Blair, it turned out, was a student and though he enjoyed music, was not the artist Jim had speculated he might be. He spoke enthusiastically of the Negro jazz musicians who played in various dance clubs where men such as he might safely gather. In return, Jim told him of his estrangement from his father and brother, and what little he remembered of the mother who had died when he was still young.

Blair kissed him gently at that, and petted his shoulder lightly. "I'm sorry. I love my mother dearly and her loss would be very painful to me."

"It was a long time ago. I rarely think of her now." Jim sought a way to turn the conversation away from the topic. "Do you live with your parents?"

There was a distinct hesitation in Blair's voice as he answered, his face unusually serious, "My mother raised me alone. I do not know who my father is. And, no, I do not live with her." The humour in his voice reassured Jim, who could not imagine how a boy such as Blair must have been would bear the shame of bastardy. "She loves to travel, and as soon as I was old enough to start at the university, she resumed her wanderings alone."

"Did you travel with her as a child?" He had spent all his life within New York, and could not imagine living any other place, for all that the city seemed sometimes to be like the ancient gods of myth who devoured their children.

Blair shrugged carelessly. "A lot of the time. Sometimes I stayed with family." He must have felt Jim's quickly suppressed reaction, for he said quietly, "unfortunately, my people are accustomed to dealing with the unwanted results of rape. My family is from Russia, you see." He met Jim's eyes bravely. "Does it bother you that I am a Jew?"

"No. Not at all." The answer was true enough. He had no religious objection, having long ago decided that he did not wish to believe in the God his father swore by, and those Jews he had met in the course of his work had on the whole been neither more nor less decent and honest than any of the Irish or Italians or Poles. He said as much, earning a curious glance and the question he should have expected.

"I work in an office. For the city." He hoped Blair would accept the vague answer, and was relieved when he did so. He supposed it would not be very unusual for the men frequenting the bathhouse to be equally reticent. However, the momentary awkwardness caused a silence between them. To cover it, he leaned forward to kiss Blair's parted lips and they resumed their leisurely kisses, content to do so until passion flared again.

* * *

Having committed himself to the pursuit of activities he would once have viewed with disgust, it was not in Jim's nature to question his choice. Neither would he deny that Blair held a place in his heart seldom given to any person. He was, however, a practical man. He could not, in any circumstances, envision himself leading the clandestine life of the men he observed in the bathhouse, for he was neither secretive nor promiscuous by inclination. For the time that remained of his undercover assignment, he would continue his liaison with Blair, but after that it must end.

That it would do so naturally, as a result of the planned raid, gave Jim a moment's pause. The penalties for sodomitical behaviour were severe and to abandon Blair to the mercies of the law would not sit well with his conscience. He knew the young man well enough, however, to be sure that Blair would not, if forewarned, keep that knowledge to himself. He decided, after reflection, to find some way to lure Blair away from the Ariston on the night of the raid. He had only to await notification of the raid himself.

Meanwhile, he spent his nights under Blair's eager tutelage, his days sleeping and his evenings blessedly free from the headaches that had plagued him for months. Even the smells from the other apartments in his building bothered him less. In fact, he realised one evening as he made his way towards 55th and Broadway, he could hardly recall a time when his life had been so pleasant. That it would soon end, he did not allow himself to dwell on.

As usual on a Saturday night, the bathhouse was very busy. Keeping to his schedule, Jim arrived relatively early - around nine o'clock - so he could gather enough information to complete his report. By the time Blair arrived, some time after midnight, Jim was more than ready to abandon his surveillance and retire to his cubicle. There, they fell upon each other as though starved, as they did every night.

Once their initial hunger had been assuaged, they fell into comfortable somnolence, curled together with Blair's back against Jim's chest while Jim idly strummed the coarse dark hair adorning Blair's chest. Even without the impulse of passion, Jim could always find ample reason to delight in Blair's presence. When they were together, he felt more at ease in his own body, and sometimes it even seemed to him that his senses became clearer, more intense when he held Blair in his arms.

Now, he was content to breathe in the scent of healthy male sweat and musk, not caring that this odour, which repulsed him on other men, was, on Blair, so pleasurable to his nose. He kissed the back of Blair's shoulder and yawned. His body might not yet be ready for another bout, but his thoughts were certainly headed in that direction. Blair's rambling monologue about the Red Indians, or Eskimo, or some such, faltered at the brief caress and his hips pressed back slightly in silent invitation.

"Not yet." Jim smiled, his lips still resting against the smooth skin. "I'm not as young as you." His hand crept down to Blair's stirring cock to illustrate the point.

"Then let me inspire you." Blair turned in his arms, grinning.

Jim kissed him slowly. He could never have enough of Blair's mouth, on his cock or his nipples... anywhere on his body, but most of all on his lips. "You already do, Chief."

"Chief?" Blair smiled cheekily. "Does that mean I can command you and you'll obey?"

"Don't you already?" Jim grumbled indulgently. He tugged gently on Blair's cock and raised his brows a fraction. "What do you want me to do? Shall I suck you?" He felt the stirring flesh twitch sharply. "Shall I..."

"Fuck me." Blair's voice went suddenly hoarse. "Fuck me, Jim."

Almost, he was tempted to suggest the opposite - that Blair fuck him. The thought had been occurring to him more and more frequently, to his initial dismay. By now the urge was becoming insistent, and yet always something in him held back - perhaps the realisation that, if he allowed this intimacy, he might not have the strength to walk away when this ill-conceived affair came to its inevitable conclusion.

Blair frowned slightly at his hesitation. "Jim?"

"Nothing." Jim shook his head and smiled. "A passing thought." He reached for the little jar of salve and dipped his fingers inside. Actions always came easier to him than words, and never more so than in matters of the heart.

Blair sighed in lazy contentment as Jim's fingers stroked slowly between his buttocks. It would be a while yet before Jim would be ready to use anything except his fingers, but Blair loved to have his ass played with, and Jim - to his surprise - loved to indulge him. He had quickly learnt how to tease and stimulate without allowing release until Blair was squirming with arousal and begging for his cock.

He stretched out beside Blair, exploring his mouth with slow sensuality while his two fingers slid deep into Blair's ass. Their legs soon tangled together, as Blair writhed and twisted in eager response. He reached for Jim's cock and began to stroke it lightly with his fingertips, having learned from experience that this was the way to drive Jim crazy with lust.

Something impinged on Jim's awareness - a vague feeling that something was not right, though he had no idea what. He hesitated, reaching for something, anything to explain his unease, and felt the cubicle, Blair, his own body begin to slide away from him. The panicked realisation that he could not allow this to happen - not here, not where Blair could see it - held him on the edge until Blair's voice, calling his name, drew him back. And in that instant, Jim knew what was happening.

"We have to get out of here." Jim pulled away from Blair, and scrambled over him to the floor. "Hurry."

"Jim, what is  _wrong_?" Blair made no move to follow, only pushing himself up onto his elbow to stare at Jim in frustration.

He was too busy pulling his clothes out of the locker to pay much attention. "Go back to your dressing room and get your clothes on. We have to leave. Now!"

"Why?" Blair asked bluntly. "Jim, I'm not leaving."

The sound of raised voices, followed by doors crashing open startled them both. With far more calmness than he felt, Jim said, "Police raid. We'd better stay together - I can't protect you if I'm not with you."

There was yelling everywhere now. Hands pounding on doors, and loud cries of "Police". Blair's eyes widened in alarm. "How did you..."

"Not now, Blair." He buttoned his shirt and then his pants. He was reaching for his jacket when the expected hammering started on his own door.

"Open up you damn fairy! Get yourself out of there." He didn't recognise the voice.

Jim turned to the door. "Get under the cot. I won't let them come in."

His badge in hand, Jim opened the door a fraction. Two uniformed officers were waiting. The closer of the two immediately reached for Jim's shirtfront. He blocked the movement with hardly a thought, then raised his badge so the men could see it. "Ellison. I'm here on surveillance, was just about to go off duty. Would you mind telling me why in God's name I wasn't warned of this? Where the Hell is McGinty?"

"Sir." The cop nearest him nodded nervous acknowledgement. "Capt McGinty isn't leading this raid. It's Capt Smittberger, Sir. From the Forty Seventh Street station."

"I know where Smittberger's captain, thank you." Jim said dryly. "I'll be speaking to  _my_  captain about this, you can be sure." He sighed. "Just go about your duties. I'll finish dressing and do my part shortly."

"Aye, Sir." Both men seemed relieved that he wasn't about to blame them for the entire business. "Sorry, Sir."

Jim grunted noncommitally and closed the door in their faces. He turned to see Blair still standing by the cot, though not where he could have been seen, his hair and eyes wild. "You're with the Police?"

His heart sinking, Jim nodded and moved back to the locker. He pulled out his boots and sat on the edge of the cot to put them on.

Blair's eyes narrowed. "You  _knew_  about this."

"It's why I was here in the first place." Jim didn't look up. "I didn't know the raid would be tonight or I would have got us out of here before it happened."

The sound Blair made was somewhere between a choke and a sob. "You  _knew_."

"I've already said so." Laces tied, he stood and reached for his jacket. "Don't worry, I'll get you out of here somehow."

"My  _friends_  are out there! Will you save them too?" Blair grabbed his arm with unexpected strength and pulled Jim around to face him. "Will you?"

"I can't." Jim failed to meet the furious eyes. "It'll be difficult enough getting you out of here."

"So, you'll let  _them_  go to prison for the same crime that  _we've_  committed?" Face set in mulish determination, Blair made no effort to hide his disgust. "Damn you. I'll take my chances with my friends."

"No!" Jim grabbed him as he tried to get to the door and pushed him up against the thin wall. "Don't be a fool. You could go to prison for twenty years. Is your pride worth that?"

He saw, with no satisfaction at all, the fight drain out of Blair. The wide blue eyes dropped for a moment and when they lifted again, there was no warmth or hope in them. "Very well. What am I to do?"

A good question indeed. There was nobody in the immediate vicinity, but once out of the cubicle, there was little safety for either of them. He handed his sheet to Blair wordlessly and while Blair was wrapping it around his waist, found his jacket and put it on. His coat was still in the locker, and he passed this to Blair too.

When he'd started his undercover surveillance, the first thing he'd done, instinctively, was to scout out the premises. There was a door opening onto 55th, which was used to remove garbage and laundry to the hotel above. If he could get Blair to his cubicle unseen... once he was dressed the two of them could go up to the hotel and mingle with the guests. Blair could leave and he'd be free to return to the raid - and the sooner he did that, the less suspicion would be aroused.

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Jim could not help smiling as he watched Blair button his coat. The sleeves were a trifle long, although Blair's shoulders filled out the coat almost as well as Jim's. However the hem of the coat hung around Blair's bare ankles as though he were a child dressing up in his older brother's clothes. He quickly wiped the smile off his face before Blair looked up.

"What now?" Blair's voice still held more than a hint of anger. "And what if we're stopped? Will you hand me over?"

"We won't be stopped." Jim held up a hand to silence Blair and listened for anything that would indicate police officers nearby. Finding none, he signalled to Blair to follow him, whispering a warning to stay close.

There was nobody left in the dressing room area, but when they reached Blair's cubicle, the locker was broken open and the clothes gone. Jim swore softly, although he noticed that Blair seemed more annoyed than perturbed.

"Was there anything in here that might identify you?" Blair looked at him scornfully and didn't deign to answer. "Then we'd better get out of here."

They could not go directly to the door, as they would have had to pass the main entrance, and there was still plenty of activity in that area. At each corner, Jim paused to listen and then risk a quick glance. As far as he could tell, most of the activity was in the parlour, where protesting, and sometimes sobbing, men were being identified and handcuffed. They would have to pass by the parlour door, but the lighting was much dimmer than by the entrance, and Jim was certain that if he timed it right, they would succeed.

The journey had to be accomplished in small stages, with frequent stops to hide in darkened alcoves or behind tall potted plants. A leisurely stroll would have taken them perhaps two minutes to reach their goal, but it must have been at least twenty before they slipped into the storage room, which was the penultimate destination on their escape route. The door, predictably, was locked.

Blair groaned in frustration and leaned against the wall. "I don't suppose you have a key?"

"No, but I'll manage." He cast about him in the dark room, looking for anything he could use either to pick the lock or force the door. After a moment, he found a short length of wire sturdy enough to serve as a lock pick.

"I don't know how you do that." Blair commented mildly. "I can't see a thing in here."

"I have good eyesight." Jim bent over the lock and a moment later it gave forth a loud metallic click. "I hope nobody heard that."

"It wasn't very loud." Blair crowded behind him as he pushed the door open.

As Jim had hoped, there was no officer guarding the door - an oversight which he found shocking in its laxness, yet not very surprising. He closed the door and locked it securely before tossing aside his makeshift lock pick Now he had to find some way to obtain Blair's clothes, or to get him away dressed as he was and find a safe hiding place. The hotel was the obvious and most convenient option, as long as he could obtain a room without arousing suspicion. .

The matter was decided when, two steps from the doorway, Blair gasped in pain. Jim turned back to see him leaning against the wall, one foot on the ground, the other nursed in his hand. Blood was welling up from a sizeable gash in the sole.

"Glass, I think." Blair's voice was only slightly unsteady, but it was clear that walking was going to be a problem.

Jim glanced around, seeing more reflected glints of light. Blair would be lucky to take another two paces without cutting himself again. Without bothering to warn him, Jim swept Blair up into his arms - no mean feat, that. This young man for all his slight appearance and short stature was no lightweight.

"Why, Mr Rochester..." Blair murmured wickedly, his breath tickling Jim's ear.

It was the first sign that Blair's anger was thawing, but Jim resolutely quashed the tiny thread of happiness inside him. After tonight he would not see Blair again. "Do you think you could pretend to a faint?"

Blair smiled smugly. His eyes rolled up in his head and he went completely limp.

"Not yet," Jim gasped as his knees almost buckled under the dead weight. "Some blood would make it more convincing."

"A victim of street hooligans?" Blair shrugged. "What about the absence of shoes?"

"Just keep your feet tucked inside the coat as best you can. People aren't very observant."

He stopped close to the side entrance of the hotel. At this time of night, there would be a night porter, but probably nobody else there. Blair took some blood from his foot and smeared it theatrically down the left side of his face. Jim inspected the effect and then thoroughly tousled his hair as well. Satisfied, he lifted Blair into his arms again and felt him go limp.

It required no acting ability to appear out of breath by the time they reached the door. The night porter, a middle-aged heavy set man with a surly disposition seemed unimpressed with Jim's story, but grudgingly allowed them entrance after Blair had moaned dramatically a few times. He ushered them to a small room where Jim could lay Blair on the bed and conceal his lack of footwear with a light blanket.

"I'll need some bandages, I think. Here's the payment for the room." He handed over five dollars, not caring whether the man kept it or used it to pay for the room as he'd suggested.

The porter grumbled under his breath. "You'll not be wanting a doctor?"

"I am a doctor." Jim lied smoothly. "He's not seriously injured, just stunned. The bandages, and some water to clean the wound, will be all I require."

As soon as the porter left, Jim lifted the blanket away from Blair's foot. "I'd better check it for glass. If there's any in the wound you'll get an infection."

"Considering the level of filth on that street, I'll probably get an infection anyway," Blair grumbled, then flinched as Jim plucked a sliver of glass from the wound. "Ow!"

"Hold still, there's more." Jim switched on the small table lamp beside the bed and squinted, then quickly withdrew two more tiny fragments. "That's all, I think."

Blair let go the breath he was holding. "So, what are we to do now? I can't stay here, and I can't leave without clothes."

"I was thinking that the best course would be to go back to the bathhouse and see if I can locate your clothes." Jim scratched his nose, absently. "However I don't suppose there's much chance of success."

Blair hesitated, then shrugged. "You could always get some clothes from my home."

"I could." Jim studied him thoughtfully. A few minutes before Blair had been furious with him, and now he was offering information which would put his safety, his entire future in Jim's hands? "Or I could buy some cheap clothes. There's a pawnshop not far away. I could go there in the morning."

"I'd rather not wait that long," Blair said dryly. "The presence of so many police in the area is making me strangely nervous."

"Very well. Once I've bandaged your foot, I'll go. Is it far?"

Blair shook his head. "No. Not far at all."

* * *

Blair Sandburg lived in a tiny room above a Chinese laundry on East 38th Street. Even at nearly three o'clock in the morning, there were people about, but none of them seemed inclined to ask questions of Jim. He retrieved Blair's key from its hiding place above the door and let himself in.

Inside, there was little space to move - the bed was no larger than those at the bathhouse, and every other nook and cranny was filled with piles of books - some new, some old. A suit hung on a hook and there was a pile of crumpled underwear and shirts in one corner. Jim sniffed cautiously, but they were clean. He gathered up what he needed and put everything into a small duffel.

When he got back to the hotel, he found Blair fast asleep, naked under the covers. Unable to resist, Jim perched carefully on the edge of the bed and studied the sleeping face. He did not understand the hold this young man held over him, but could not deny its power. For Blair, he had abandoned everything he thought he knew to be true about himself, had embraced the new knowledge without hesitation, and now that the end was near, he mourned its loss. How he was to return to his normal life, Jim had no idea.

The temptation to put it off just a little longer was intense. He leaned forward and lightly brushed aside a strand of long, curly hair, half hoping that Blair would wake and that they could make love one last time. For a moment it seemed that his prayers might be answered. Blair's eyelids flickered and lifted, but unlike all other awakenings they'd shared, there was no joy in the blue eyes, only sadness.

Blair smiled, but the curve of his lips did nothing to lighten his sombre expression. "I won't see you again. Will I?"

"No." Jim sighed, trying to find words to explain to Blair that which he did not understand himself. "I can't live like this - between two worlds. I don't belong in... that world."

If he had thought that Blair might argue the point, he was mistaken. Jim watched as Blair sat up and reached for the duffel. "I'd better get dressed. You don't need to stay."

He rose and walked to the door, his steps reluctant. As he opened the door Blair spoke again. "Jim? Thank you, for the clothes. And... for everything."

It was impossible for him to speak, or turn to face Blair. Jim managed a curt nod and left, closing the door firmly behind him.

* * *

Considering how difficult it had been to put an end to his liaison with Blair, Jim fell back into his normal life with remarkable ease at first. His absence at the raid had not been noticed, and when he complained to McGinty about the lack of warning - more as a way of diverting attention from his own behaviour on that night than out of a genuine sense of grievance - he'd received an apology from the gruff captain and a promise to raise the embarrassing lapse with Smittberger and the inspectors who had approved the raid.

Perhaps by way of an apology, Jim was offered a position on the Mayor's security team. He politely refused the honour, preferring to remain inconspicuous. In every other way, the interlude at the Ariston bathhouse might never have happened. He still ate at the same diner, still slept badly or sometimes not at all, and still suffered from his headaches and a sensitive stomach.

As February turned to March, and March drew to a close, both headaches and nausea became worse, and more frequent. When he began to wake during the night, his skin afire and his nostrils choking with the stench from the street outside - which had never unduly bothered him before - Jim began to fear there was something seriously wrong.

His doctor could give him no help other than a bottle of Laudanum, which he might have purchased at any grocery store, but even a single drop of the liquid was enough to make Jim dizzy and unable to see for the strange distortion of his vision that it caused. He went to the Roosevelt Hospital, but none of the doctors who examined him could offer a solution other than the possibility of a tumour of his brain, about which they could do nothing. When he overheard them talking of hysteria and Kings Park, he slipped from the room and left the hospital. Before he left them lock him away in a lunatic asylum, he'd take a bullet from his own gun.

That night, haunted by nightmares of himself filthy and starved and stark, raving mad, Jim barely slept until dawn. He woke late with only the faintest memory of a dream where he had made love to Blair by the light of a guttering candle. It was only as he left the building, hurrying late to work that Jim realised his headache, though by no means gone, was little more than a phantom pain, scarcely real.

There was plenty of time to consider the meaning of this, as his obvious poor health had prompted McGinty to keep Jim away from cases involving anything too active. At present he was laboriously writing reports for the clerks to make typewritten copies to send to the District Attorney's office. He wondered idly how much longer McGinty would be prepared to coddle him this way, but could not bring himself to care.

Finally, steeling himself for the pain he must inevitably feel, Jim allowed his mind to roam back to those few, halcyon nights he had spent in Blair's embrace. The headaches, if he remembered correctly - and he was sure he did - had ceased almost immediately and had not recurred until after the raid and their subsequent separation. Perhaps it had been the relaxing effects of sexual release, but Jim did not think so. Occasionally since, he had attempted relief with his own hand, or one of the cleaner streetwalkers, but it had not been either enjoyable or relaxing and he had abandoned the attempts without regret. They had certainly not caused any improvement in his condition.

Yet, with just a dream of Blair, his headache and other ills had faded dramatically, at least for a while. Jim could feel the familiar, and unpleasant, tugging that heralded the return of his ailments, but even this brief remission was better than any he had experienced in the last few weeks. Unable to wait to put his theory to the test, Jim left the station house and walked to Blair's home.

The key was not in its hiding place above the door. And, when Jim knocked on the door, it was opened by a Chinaman who spoke no English. Jim retreated to the laundry on the first floor, where at least the youth behind the counter spoke some English, but he could give no information about Blair's new address.

It would certainly be possible to find Blair. Jim knew his surname and that he was a student. That should be enough, but it would take time, and Jim had little patience for the investigation. There was one place where he could be fairly sure of meeting Blair - unless he had abandoned it altogether.

* * *

The raid on the Ariston bathhouse might never have taken place. No doubt there had been some brief disruption, but if so, there was no sign of it now. It was nearly midnight, and the cooling room was as busy as ever.

Jim tried to relax, but his body was aching with tension, and nobody who came within two feet of him dared to approach any closer. He told himself that if Blair did not come tonight, he would certainly track him down tomorrow, but it was no use. Even those few hours seemed an eternity.

He knew, almost immediately, when Blair entered the room. His head turned to the doorway and saw Blair staring at him in shock. Then Blair shook his head slightly and walked towards him.

He spoke quietly. "Is there to be another raid?"

"No." Jim forced himself to stillness with difficulty. He had come here for help with a physical problem, but from the moment he'd seen Blair, he'd been unable to think of anything but the tenderness that had passed between them all those weeks ago. For two bits he would have cast aside his sheet and taken Blair right there against the wall. "I needed to... see you."

Blair cocked his head and inspected Jim with an unnerving thoroughness. "You've been ill. Is it the clap?"

"Nothing you need fear." Jim smiled faintly. "But... I think you can help me."

He did not ask, as well he might, why he should  _want_  to help Jim, but only smiled a little and turned to walk out of the room. A glance back over his shoulder invited Jim to follow.

Jim caught up to him at the entrance to the dressing room area. "Not here. Get dressed and come with me. I promise you'll be safe."

"I'd never doubt it." The low, rough timbre of Blair's voice sent a tremor through Jim's body, and he saw that Blair had noted it. "I won't be long."

Separating from Blair reluctantly, Jim dressed hurriedly and returned to the entrance. A moment later Blair joined him wearing a rather shabby tweed coat over the kind of sweater and jeans a dockworker might wear. Jim raised his eyebrows.

"Better to lose these in a raid than my only remaining suit."

"A fair point," Jim conceded. "We'll go to my apartment, if you don't mind."

He caught a flicker of surprise on Blair's face, but the young man recovered quickly. "What do you think I can help you with?"

"I don't wish to talk about it on the street." Jim hailed a horse drawn hackney, thinking the cost worth it if he could only have what was sure to be a difficult conversation over the sooner.

There was a distance between them that Jim noticed with some concern. Blair did not appear hostile at all, but neither was he as warm and relaxed as he had been previously. It was inevitable, but Jim hoped it was not a bad omen - if Blair did not believe him, or worse, thought him mad, he did not know what he would do.

All too soon, the hackney dropped them at the corner of Jim's street. He had not considered how he was going to present his situation to Blair, and now he cursed himself for his lack of forethought. As they walked up the stairs in silence, his mind was furiously sorting and discarding opening sentences, but to no avail. He opened the door to his apartment with no idea of what he was going to say.

Blair looked around at the room curiously. "It's... tidy."

Jim smiled at the memory of Blair's room with its precarious stacks of book. "I prefer it that way. I have some wine, if you'd like it."

It was only a cheap red wine, bought at an Italian store that afternoon, but it was something at least to break the ice. He poured a glass for each of them and handed one to Blair. They each took a sip and stood in silence.

"Jim..."

His glass fell from nerveless fingers as desire struck him without warning. Reaching for Blair, Jim pulled him into his arms and kissed him fiercely. After only a moment's hesitation Blair responded in kind and Jim heard the second glass shatter against the bare floorboards. Then Blair wriggled free of him, laughing and shaking his head, his hands held out to ward him off.

"No. Jim, please..." The laughter came not from amusement, Jim saw, but a desperate attempt not to give way to a more tender emotion. "You cannot... not again."

"I want you. God, I  _need_  you... more than you could ever imagine." He swallowed as his throat constricted painfully. "I thought I could return to my life as though nothing had happened, and for a while I could. But now that I see you again... Blair, please..."

Blair face firmed with resolve, though his eyes were suspiciously damp. "Is your bed through there?"

Jim nodded; he could feel his pulse beating strongly in his throat. As Blair turned, shrugging out of his coat, Jim caught his arm. "It's not just a tumble I want. Blair..."

"We'll talk later." Blair smiled shakily, looking so torn that Jim could say no more, only follow him into the other room.

They undressed in silence, Blair more rapidly though his hands were visibly shaking. When Jim finally turned to the bed, Blair was already waiting for him. He lit the candle he'd placed on his nightstand earlier and switched off the gas light on the wall.

There was little more room in his bed than on the cots at the bathhouse, but for once, Jim didn't mind. He lay half atop Blair, allowing his skin to absorb the sensation of Blair's heat and kissing him with a sweet tenderness that left him aching with need, but also with emotion. Blair's hands on his back and shoulders soothed his skin more than any of the salves he'd tried. He moaned softly into Blair's mouth and delved deeper with his tongue as though he could somehow absorb Blair's essence and carry it inside him forever.

Slowly, slowly, Blair began to relax beneath him as growing desire banished all other emotion, at least for a time. Jim began to explore Blair's body, finding that once again, his senses seemed clearer, more defined. He could easily have lost himself in the delight of these sensations, yet Blair was his siren call, repeatedly drawing him back from the brink. That Blair was enjoying these attentions was self evident; Jim could smell his arousal and taste it in his sweat, and now that there was not the same need for discretion, hear it in the low, rich moans that escaped him.

He sucked hard on the tender skin of Blair's belly, deliberately leaving his mark, and felt the brush of Blair's cock against his cheek. With a low moan, he turned his face towards it, allowing the thick shaft to play across his face, leaving faint trails of moisture. Previously, Jim had been circumspect in his lovemaking with Blair, avoiding anything resembling penetration, but now he kissed the sensitive crown with parted lips, sweeping his tongue over the slit before taking the upper half of the shaft into his mouth.

It was strange to feel such fullness in his mouth, but Jim persisted, taking a little more after each breath until he could go no further without choking. Beneath him, Blair lay completely still, for which he was profoundly grateful. He wrapped his fingers around the lower half of Blair's cock squeezing gently and sucked until his jaw ached.

When he could bear it no longer, Jim released the heavy cock from his mouth and crawled back up Blair's body, working his jaw a little to ease the sore muscles. Blair pulled him into a wet and messy kiss with impatient hands before breaking away again.

"Do you have anything we can use?"

Struck dumb, Jim nodded and reached for a small jar of petroleum jelly he'd purchased that very day. He took off the lid and handed it to Blair, his heart pounding furiously. When he spoke his voice was almost unrecognisable. "I want you to fuck me."

Blair gasped, his pupils dilating enormously. "Jim, are you..."

Jim kissed him to silence, then repeated his request.

"Lie on your back." Putting the jar aside for the moment, Blair rolled onto his side and raised himself on his elbow looking down at Jim. He ran his hand thoughtfully over Jim's thigh, stroking up the inside and along the crease of his groin. "Let me get you relaxed first," he whispered, and took hold of Jim's cock.

They kissed again, holding the embrace while Blair worked his cock, using a little of the jelly for lubrication. All too soon, Jim was arching into Blair's grip, his hands clutching at Blair's arms. Nothing they'd ever done had felt this intense before and he feared this was just the beginning. If this did not cure him then it would certainly kill him. Sounds of pleasure and need escaped his lips and he felt no shame for such a loss of control. When the climax finally stripped him bare, he could have wept with joy.

Almost before his senses returned, Blair had begun to prepare him for what was to come next. The teasing finger on his anus sent fluttering sensations through his body, impossible to define, but unexpectedly pleasurable. Less so, were the first few moments of penetration, even though Blair was using but a single finger. Blair smiled at him encouragingly and rubbed his belly, soothing him as though he was some hound prostrating itself before its master.

Which, perhaps, was not so far from the truth.

"Bear down on my finger." Blair softly kissed his lax cock. "It will ease the passage."

He did so, and found that Blair was right. Although it felt strange and intrusive, the penetration was no longer uncomfortable. He received an approving smile and had to stop himself preening at the implied praise. Blair's finger slid deeper inside him, gently brushing the walls of his rectum in a mildly pleasant way, then began to move in and out in imitation of the sex act.

Sweat broke out anew all over Jim's body, as the reality of what he was about to have done to him hit home. He still wanted it - dear God, how he did - but he feared it too. He made a soft whimpering noise and Blair glanced at him. "You don't have to do this, Jim."

"I want to. It's just..." And Blair touched something inside that forced a startled cry out of him. "God! Do that again."

Grinning widely, Blair complied. Then did it twice more. When Jim collapsed against the mattress panting, he said mischievously, "You see why I enjoy it so?"

Jim nodded fervently, unable to speak. His cock was hard again, aching and unattended, and he touched it almost tentatively.

"Yes. Go on." Blair watched appreciatively as he stroked the shaft and then teased back the foreskin. His cockhead was almost painfully sensitive and more than adequately lubricated. He began to slide the foreskin back and forth, the only stimulation that he dared use for fear that he might climax too soon. It was several minutes before he realised that Blair now had two fingers inside him.

"Don't stop." The rough whisper reminded him that Blair had not yet attained his own release. "You look so beautiful."

It surprised a laugh out of Jim. "I think you need spectacles."

"I already have them." Blair flushed, but his eyes were laughing too. "But I can see well enough without. Stay like that."

Jim stopped the slow movement of his hand and Blair leaned over to lick away the clear fluid from his partially exposed cockhead. The delicate lapping of Blair's tongue sent shudders through Jim's body and, helplessly, he watched as the ropy strands of his seed gushed onto Blair's lips and face. Once again, he sank into limp satiety, aware only that Blair was still stroking inside him.

When he could move again, he caught hold of Blair's arm. "Enough. I want you to take me now. Before you kill me."

Blair licked his lips nervously and nodded. "All right. Just wait a moment." He took some more jelly from the jar, applying it to his cock with careful deliberation. When he was satisfied he looked at Jim, his expression serious. "Tell me if you need me to stop, or if it hurts too much."

"I promise." Something about Blair's anxiety eased Jim's apprehension. He smiled and stretched, then consciously relaxed his muscles. "I trust you."

A fleeting smile did little to smooth the tension from Blair's face. He leaned over Jim, holding his cock in one hand while Jim drew his legs up to his chest. The blunt pressure surprised Jim - Blair's cock seemed much larger than it looked now, and for a moment he doubted the wisdom of what they were about to do. Then Blair pressed forward and his cockhead slipped inside Jim's ass.

After that it was easier. A few deep, panting breaths helped Jim to relax again, and suddenly Blair was buried to the hilt. He dropped across Jim's body, lying chest to chest, face to face. He was trembling even more than Jim.

"Easy... easy there, Chief." He stroked the dark hair away from Blair's face and kissed his sweat-salty temple. "I'm not going to break."

"No, but  _I_  might," Blair muttered. He pushed himself up on his hands a little and began a gentle rocking, first withdrawing and then sliding smoothly back. The friction sent sparks of intense pleasure through Jim's over stimulated nerves and he gasped. If it were physically possible he would have climaxed again, instantly.

Instead, he watched appreciatively as Blair absently gnawed on his lower lip, too busy concentrating on his movements to be aware of how unutterably desirable he looked at this moment. Each time Blair pressed into him, it came a little easier, and soon Jim became impatient with his care. He wrapped his legs around Blair's hips - just as Blair had done to him so many times - and met his thrust with a surge of his hips.

"Yes...  _yes_..." Blair shuddered plunged deep, his hips jerking erratically between Jim's thighs. It confirmed Jim's suspicions that Blair had been on a knife's edge for far too long. Now, despite his care, he was unable to hold back any longer. "Jim... oh, God, Jim..."

He pressed his hands against Blair's flexing muscles, urging him on, infected by the intensity of Blair's arousal. Perhaps later he would regret his rashness, but for now he could not - what was a little discomfort compared to this incredible pleasure?

At the last, Blair lowered his head to Jim's chest, sobbing breathlessly as his cock drove again and again into Jim's body. He stroked Blair's back gently, overwhelmed with tenderness at the extremity of Blair's need. With a final groan, Blair thrust into him and stayed there, cock pulsing as his seed poured out. Then he collapsed, breathless and limp on top of Jim, his back heaving as he struggled to breathe deeply enough.

There was no strength left in either of them. The most Jim could manage was to draw the blankets over them before the heat of their exertions could escape. Blair muttered something unintelligible into his chest, and Jim petted his hair absently.

"Stay till morning. We can talk then." He shifted slightly, allowing Blair to slide partly off him, but kept an arm around him to prevent him moving too far.

In the morning they would talk, and if Blair still wanted to stay with him, he would tell him then about his headaches and how Blair's presence kept them at bay. If he didn't... well, he couldn't bind Blair to him with obligation even if Blair was willing to be so bound.

Blair stirred again, perhaps sensing Jim's inner turmoil, and whispered "Jim" so softly as to be almost inaudible. Jim smiled, his heart suddenly lighter. He would take that for an omen.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Historical Notes:
> 
> The first recorded police raid on a gay bathhouse in the USA occurred at the Ariston Bathhouse on 21st Feb 1903. One of the men arrested was sentenced to seven years in prison. The raid was led by Inspector Brooks, Acting Inspector Walsh, and Capt. Schmittberger of the West Forty-seventh Street Station
> 
> In the nineteenth and early twentieth century, the term sodomy was applied to any "unnatural" sexual acts and not solely to anal intercourse. In 1892 the law in NY was revised to prohibit anal and oral sex only. Previously the law had been extremely vague, covering anyone who "carnally knows any male or female person in any manner contrary to nature; or voluntarily submits to such carnal knowledge"
> 
> The NY metropolitan underground was opened on 27th October 1904
> 
> The Williamsburg Bridge opened 19th December 1903
> 
> Laudanum was a tincture of opium; that is opium dissolved in alcohol - usually wine. It was cheap and easy to make and became one of the most widespread, socially acceptable drugs in the nineteenth century. Opium based remedies, including formulas designed for babies and children, could be purchased in any store. It is a highly addictive drug, but is also an effective painkiller and anti-depressant.


End file.
